


Once, I Thought Not So

by TAFKAB



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, NOT FIT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION, Old Gimli, SAD FIC OMG, Unrequited Love, What if Legolas didn't share Gimli's love?, bitter Gimli, first person POV, sad Gimli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an old, lonely dwarf who loved and lost, Gimli broods on the mistaken assumptions of his youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once, I Thought Not So

The sages have written reams of wisdom and lore regarding the Firstborn, but precious and few are the volumes on dwarves. 

Dwarves have our pride. We do not allow scribes to study our ways. Our own records we keep, in our own tongue, and no outsider may see them. If they could, they could not read. We are a fierce and private race, and keep our griefs to ourselves.

It is wise, I have learned, to conceal one’s heart. Once, I thought not so. 

*****

It is not recorded in the great libraries of Gondor, or even dare I say, in Imladris—what happens to a dwarf who has been refused by his One. Yet I know this, which the wise do not know.

We go on. We endure. We do not fade. We dedicate ourselves to hall and craft, and hold our spines straight.

But if I might tell, I would have much to say on endurance. It is a life devoid of hope. A dwarf without his One leads a long bleak life of emptiness without joy. Every hammer stroke that falls is a hammer stroke undertaken and made alone; every item of craft made is made for no more worth than wealth. 

Every meal is flavored with the ash of loss, every ale is rendered no more joyful than water. Every passionless lying down and cheerless waking is done in a cold bed, half unused, with full consciousness of the One’s absence. 

We smile and quaff and wet our beards with our brothers, but in our hearts we are empty and cold.

Great deeds and works may be made and accomplished by a dwarf alone. Kingdoms raised and ruled, forges lit and metal plied. Art made and sold. Alliances forged and kept. All the forms and necessities kept tidy, fulfilled. At times a dwarf might begin to forget what life felt like before the great void came to sit within his heart; he might forget that food once had flavor, that ale once brought comfort and good spirits, that the sunlight dancing outside the mountain was a merry thing and his heart was glad.

But then he will see a couple—two made One. The press of hands, or even the brush of lips, between them will freeze his depths with a knife of ice. He will hear the cry of a child and he is hollow again, and knows that outside his heart the world is rich and full and fair, but within there is nothing. There is no hope nor beauty nor reason for some among us; we are wed to pain. 

The powers have no mercy or care for some who walk the world, I have learned. Once, I thought not so. 

*****

I have heard the songs that would tell of me. They speak of friendship and love so great it would not allow for parting, though land and sea, though star and sky and stone and great evil stood between those who loved-- and how, to honor such great love, much grace was given. 

For a dwarf without his One, the songs are lies; they serve only to deceive. They promise to all what only a few may claim. They mock with an illusion that may not be grasped at any cost. 

Men made those songs; their race has little regard for truth, and seeks forever stubbornly for what is beyond their understanding. As, I suppose, did I.

Perhaps if the world were fair, if all were starlight and sun, if every vein of coal were gold…. But the wise know even gold is dross. And who is more wise than he who has suffered? For suffering brings wisdom, it is said, and who has suffered more than a dwarf denied his love? 

Mahal made us so we love once, and we do not fade, as elves may do. Instead, there is age and weariness and illness and the slow and bitter ending to life. Though that end may seem elusive and far, though it come at the price of great pain, at least we have it, and are not forced to arise again in torment, unless we be Durin the deathless. 

It is good to be mortal, I have learned. Once, I thought not so.


End file.
